It seemed to French that here was a possibility that he had overlooked, and it was in the nature of the man that the moment he reached such a conclusion he began to consider a way of retrieving his error.
At first he thought of taking Mr. Duke into his confidence and asking him to assist him in some subterfuge by which he could enter the house. But presently he saw that it would be better if the old gentleman knew nothing of his plan, lest he might inadvertently warn a possible criminal.
For the same reason—that Mr. Duke might get to know of it—he decided he would be wiser not to undertake the business in person. But he knew the man for the job—a certain detective-sergeant named Patrick Nolan. This man was something of a Don Juan in his way, and had a positive genius for extracting confidences from the fair sex. If he could scrape acquaintance with the maids of the establishment, it would not be long before he knew all they had to tell.
Accordingly next morning he sent for Sergeant Nolan and explained his idea, and Nolan, who, where his superiors were concerned, was a man of few words, said, “Yes, sir,” and withdrew.
The following day he returned with his first report. It seemed that, changing into the garb of a better-class mechanic and taking a small kit of tools with him, he had called at Mr. Duke’s in the character of an electrician who had been sent to overhaul the light fittings.
Miss Duke happened to be out, and the rather pretty housemaid who opened the door, charmed with the newcomer’s manner, admitted him without hesitation. He had gone all over the house, paying particular attention to Mr. Duke’s bedroom. In the middle of the day he had asked and been granted leave to heat his can of soup at the kitchen fire, and to such purpose had he used the opportunities thus gained that before he left he had prevailed on the pretty housemaid to go with him to supper and pictures on her next evening out. “Once I get a drop of spirits into her I’ll get all she knows,” he concluded, “though I doubt if it’ll be much.”
“That’s all right so far as it goes,” French admitted, “but what have you actually found out?”
“Well, there’s first of all the family. It’s a small one; there’s only the father and the daughter, Miss Sylvia. The mother’s alive, but she has been in a lunatic asylum for years, quite incurable, they said. Miss Sylvia is a nice-looking young lady and well liked, by what Rachael says—that’s the housemaid. Then there’s the servants; this Rachael, and another girl, Annie, and Sarah, the cook, and there’s a shover they call Manley. I didn’t see him, but the girls seem all right—not the kind that would be after the keys of jewel safes anyway.”
“What’s the house like?”
“It’s a middling big house, and the furniture’ll have been good when it was bought, though it’s getting a trifle shabby now. Mr. Duke’s bedroom is at the end of the left wing, and Miss Duke’s is in the front of the house, so anybody could go through Mr. Duke’s room without being seen. Anybody could get a mould of that key if he left it in his room, say, while he was having his bath.”
“Did you find out any possibilities; any tradesmen in, like yourself, or any one staying in the house?”
The Sergeant shook his head.
“I did not, sir,” he admitted. “I thought I had maybe done enough for one day. I didn’t want to be after starting them wondering about me. But I’ll get that out of Rachael to-morrow night.”
“Better see that Manley, the chauffeur—or no, I shall see him myself. You stick to what you’re at. Anything else?”
“No, sir, I think not. What the girls talked most about was Miss Sylvia’s engagement. It seems she was engaged to some friend in the City and they were to have been married at the end of the month, and now they’ve had some bust up and the whole thing’s postponed, if not off altogether.”
“That so? They didn’t tell you the reason?”
“They did not, sir. But I can likely find out from Rachael if you want to know.”
“I don’t suppose I do,” French returned, “but you might as well find out what you can—on spec. You know who the young man is?”
“No, sir. They didn’t say.”
French looked up his notebook.
“I seem to know a deal more about it than you do,” he grumbled. “He is a clerk in Mr. Duke’s office, name of Harrington—Stanley Harrington. I interviewed him with the others in the office on the day after the murder, and he told me about the engagement. It seemed to be going strong then. When did they postpone it??”
“They didn’t say that either, sir.”
“Well, find that out, too. That’ll do for the present.”
That evening French, in the guise of an out-of-work mechanic, took up his stand near Mr. Duke’s house, and presently saw the old gentleman arrive back from business in his car. An hour later he followed the chauffeur from the garage to a house in a small street off Esther Road. There French hung about for perhaps another hour, when he had the satisfaction of seeing the quarry emerge again, pass down the street, and disappear into the Rose and Thistle bar. This was just what the Inspector had hoped for, and after a few minutes he followed him in.
To scrape acquaintance was easy enough. French, as a motor mechanic out of work, was provided with a ready introduction to any chauffeur, and over a couple of glasses of beer he learned first of the chances of jobs in the district, and secondly, by skilful pumping, many details of his new companion’s work and of the Duke menage. But he heard nothing that seemed in the slightest degree suspicious or interesting. The man himself, moreover, seemed of an honest, harmless type, and much too stupid to be concerned personally in enterprises with keys of safes.
For a day the inquiry hung fire, and then Sergeant Nolan brought in a report which turned the Inspector’s thoughts into still another channel. Nolan had, it appeared, taken the pretty housemaid, Rachael, first to the pictures and then to supper at a popular restaurant. The girl had what the Sergeant called “the gift of the gab,” and it had only been necessary for him judiciously to supply an occasional topic, to have a continuous stream of more or less relevant information poured into his receptive ears.
First, he had tried to ascertain whether any one had recently had access to Mr. Duke’s dressing-room during the night or early morning, and he soon learned that, prior to his own visit, no tradesmen had been in the house for many months. Moreover, the only visitor who had stayed overnight for a considerable time was Mr. Stanley Harrington, Miss Duke’s fiancé. The two young people had been feverishly engaged in rehearsals for a play given by a local amateur dramatic society, and for the four nights previous to the entertainment Miss Duke had refused to allow her swain to waste time in going to and from his rooms, and had insisted on his putting up with them. This occurred about a month before the murder, and Harrington had slept in a room just opposite to Mr. Duke’s. It was obvious, therefore, that had the key been left in the dressing-room at any time, Harrington could have taken the necessary impression.
Nolan then went on to tell what he had found out as to the postponed wedding, and in this French felt he had food for thought. It appeared that the trouble, whatever it was, had come suddenly, and it had taken place on the day after the murder. On the evening of the crime, so Rachael had said, Mr. Duke was not at home for dinner, but Mr. Harrington had turned up. He and Miss Duke had dined together, and then everything was couleur de rose. They had gone out together after dinner. About ten, Miss Duke had returned and had gone straight to bed. Almost certainly, therefore, she had not known that night of Mr. Duke’s call to the office. Next morning she had breakfasted with her father, and had presumably then learned of the tragedy. But not five minutes after breakfast began she had slipped out of the room and had made a telephone call, and directly Mr. Duke had left the house she had put on her things and followed him. She had been absent for about twenty minutes, and had then gone direct to her bedroom, where, on the plea of a headache, she had spent the day. When Rachael had had occasion to enter, she found her lying down, but the girl had heard her hour after hour pac
ing the room, and in her opinion, her mistress’s indisposition was more mental than physical. About four o’clock that afternoon Mr. Harrington had called. Miss Duke saw him in her own sitting-room, and during the interview some terrible quarrel must have taken place. Mr. Harrington left in about half an hour, and Rachael, who had opened the door to let him out, said that he looked as if he had received his death warrant. His face wore an expression of the most acute consternation and misery, and he seemed like a man in a dream, stupefied by some terrible calamity. He usually spoke pleasantly to the girl when leaving, but on this occasion he did not appear to notice her presence, but stumbled blindly out of the house and crept off like a broken man. Later the same evening she had seen Miss Duke, and she noticed that her eyes were red and swollen from crying. Since then, the young lady had changed out of all knowing. She had become silent, melancholy, and depressed. She had grown thin and old looking, and was eating nothing, and, Rachael had opined, if something were not done, they would soon see her in a decline.
Inspector French was not a little intrigued by all this information. That there was a connection between the murder of Charles Gething and the postponed wedding he could scarcely believe, and yet some of the facts seemed almost to point in that direction.
If Miss Duke had first learned of the tragedy from her father at breakfast, was this knowledge the cause of her telephone call? To whom was the call made? What had she done during her twenty-minute absence from the house? What had taken place at the interview between Miss Duke and Harrington, and, most important of all, why had the wedding been postponed? French felt that he could not rest until he had obtained answers to all these questions, and it seemed to him that the only way he could do so would be to trace the girl’s movements in detail during the whole period in question.
For a long time he continued sitting at his desk as he considered ways and means. At last he telephoned once more for Sergeant Nolan.
“Look here,” he began, when the man presented himself, “I want you to get something more out of that girl. When can you see her again?”
“Sunday, sir,” said the charmer. “I left an opening for meeting her for fear it would maybe be wanted.”
“And this is Friday. Well, I suppose I shall have to wait. Better see her on Sunday and find out these things in this order. First, in what vehicle Miss Duke drove to her friend’s girls’ club on the night of the crime; secondly, what vehicle she came back in; and thirdly, whether she received any note or message between the time she returned that night and Mr. Harrington’s call next day, other than what she might have learned during her telephone call and absence from the house after breakfast. Got that?”
Nolan, signifying that he had, left the room, and French turned his attention to his routine work, which had got sadly behind.
On the following Monday morning, Sergeant Nolan made his report. He had taken his fair quarry up the river on Sunday afternoon, and there he had got his information.
Miss Duke and Mr. Harrington had left in Mr. Duke’s car shortly before eight. Manley, the chauffeur, had mentioned to Rachael that his young mistress had told him he need not wait for her, as she expected that Mr. Duke would want him later in the evening to take him home from his club. She had returned about ten in a taxi, and had come in quickly and gone to her room. So far as Rachael knew, she had received no caller, note or other message from then until Mr. Harrington arrived next day, other than those excepted in the question.
French was anxious to keep secret the fact that he was looking into Miss Duke’s doings, and he was therefore unwilling to question Manley on the matter. He had learned from Harrington the address of the girls’ club, and he thought inquiries there might give him his information. Accordingly an hour later saw him standing before a somewhat dilapidated church school-house in a narrow street of drab and depressing houses in the Shadwell district. The school was closed, but inquiries next door produced the information that the caretaker lived in No. 47.
He betook himself to No. 47, and there found a pale, tired-looking young woman with a baby in her arms, who, when he asked for a few moments’ conversation, invited him into an untidy and not overclean kitchen. She told him, in reply to his questions, that the club was run by a number of ladies, headed by a Miss Amy Lestrange. It was open each evening, but she, the speaker, was not present, her duty being only to keep the rooms clean. But her husband, the caretaker, was there off and on every evening. He might have been there when the young lady in question arrived, she did not know. But he worked in the factory near by, and would be in for his dinner in half an hour, if the gentleman liked to wait.
French said he would call back presently, and strolled out through the depressing neighbourhood. In forty-five minutes he was back at No. 47, where the caretaker had just arrived. French told him to go on with his dinner, and sat besides him as he ate. The man, evidently hoping the affair would have its financial side, was anxious to tell everything he knew.
It seemed that he had been present at the club on the evening in question, and when French had described his young couple, he remembered their arrival. It was not usual for so fine a motor to penetrate the fastnesses of that dismal region, and its appearance had fixed the matter in his memory. The gentleman had got out first and asked him if this was the Curtis Street Club, and had then assisted his companion to alight. The lady had called to the chauffeur that he need not either wait or return for her. She had then gone into the club, leaving the gentleman standing on the pavement. About half-past nine a taxi had driven up, and the same gentleman had got out and sent him, the caretaker, in to say that Mr. Harrington was waiting for Miss Duke. The young lady had presently come down with Miss Lestrange, the head of the club. The three had talked for a few minutes, and then the strangers had got into the taxi and driven off.
“She’s a fine girl, Miss Duke,” French observed, as he offered the caretaker a fill from his pouch. “I never have seen her anything but smiling and pleasant all the years I’ve known her.”
“That’s right,” the man returned, gloatingly loading his pipe. “She’s a peach and no mistake.”
French nodded in a satisfied way.
“I should have laid a quid on it,” he declared, “that she would have been as smiling and pleasant going away as when she came. She always is.”
“Well, you’d ha’ pulled it off. But, lor, guv’nor, it’s easy for lydies as wot ’as lots o’ money to be pleasant. W’y shouldn’t they be?”
French rose.
“Ah well, I expect they’ve their troubles like the rest of us,” he said, slipping half a crown into the man’s eager hand.
If the caretaker was correct and Miss Duke was in good spirits on leaving the club, it followed that the upset, whatever it had been, had not up to then taken place. The next step, therefore, was obviously to find the taxi in which the two young people had driven to Hampstead, so as to learn whether anything unusual had occurred during the journey.
He returned to the Yard, and sending for some members of his staff, explained the point at issue. But, as he would have been the first to admit, it was more by luck than good guidance that on the very first day of the inquiry he gained his information. Taximan James Tomkins had driven the young couple on the evening in question, and by five o’clock he was at the Yard awaiting French’s pleasure.
CHAPTER VIII
SYLVIA AND HARRINGTON
Taximan Tomkins as a wizened-looking man with a surly manner and the air of having a constant grievance, but he was evidently overawed by the situation in which he found himself, and seemed anxious to do his best to answer the Inspector’s questions clearly.
He remembered the evening in question. He had been hailed by a gentleman near Liverpool Street, and told to drive to the Curtis Street Girls’ Club. There, after some delay, they had picked up a young lady.
“What address did you get?” French asked.
“I don’t just remember,” the man said slowly, scratching his head. “Somewhere
in Hampstead it was, but I’m blest if I could tell you where.”
“The Cedars, Hampstead, perhaps?”
“That’s right, guv’nor. That was it.”
“And the two started off together?”
“Yes, the other young lydie just saw them off.”
“Now tell me, did they meet any one else on the way home?”
“Not while they were in the keb, they didn’t.”
“Or buy a paper, or stop for any purpose whatever?”
“They stopped and got out for a ’arf a-mo’, but I can’t say if it was to buy a paper.”
“Oh, they stopped, did they? Where was that”
“In Holborn, just past the end of Hatton Garden.”
“What?” cried French, surprised out of his usual calm superiority. “Tell me about that.”
The driver was stupid and suspicious, but in time the details came out. The most direct route led along Holborn, and he had taken it, but when he reached the point in question the young man had hailed him through the speaking tube. “Hold on a minute, driver,” he had called. “Look sharp, please.” He had pulled over to the kerb, but almost before he had come to a stand the young man had jumped out and had hurried across the street. The lady had then alighted, had told Tomkins to wait, and had followed him. Tomkins had at first feared he was going to lose his money, but after a couple of minutes they had both returned and the girl had got in. She had bidden good-night to her friend, and he, Tomkins, had driven her off, leaving the man standing on the pavement. On arrival at Hampstead, the lady had paid him and entered the house. As far as the driver had noticed, neither of the young people was excited or upset.
This information gave French cause for thought. On obtaining Harrington’s statement on the morning after the murder, he had imagined the young man was keeping something back. And now he found that he had been right. The young fellow had not mentioned the fact that he had been within a few yards of the scene of the crime at the time at which it had taken place. He had stated that he had seen Sylvia home, and now it appeared he had not done so, but had accompanied her only halfway. French reminded himself with satisfaction that his instinct on such a point was seldom far astray.
Inspector French's Greatest Case Page 9
